Moving on and Biding Time
by a. loquita
Summary: She puts her head on his shoulder. He wonders if this is what it will be like. Sam/Jack


**Moving on and Biding Time  
**Rating: PG  
Pairing: Sam/Jack  
Spoilers/warnings: none  
A/N: Happy birthday supplyship! Thanks to Zip for your beta work.

* * *

They don't do this often enough. They talk about it, but getting around to actually making the plans, gathering together, and avoiding any intergalactic crisis that may prevent the attendance of several key guests really puts a crimp in regular backyard barbeques with the former team.

The team that is both old and new, because it not only includes Jack's version of SG-1, but the two incarnations that followed, and occasionally additions like Reynolds or Bill Lee, or the time Mitchell brought the girl from accounting that he was dating for a while. It always includes Cassandra. And sometimes, when they get drunk and nostalgic, it includes the ghosts of those who should be here, but aren't.

Jack sips his beer while he leans against the railing. Vala is clearly cheating at the card game going on over at the picnic table, but Carter and Teal'c are unconcerned, discussing something that's putting a big smile on Carter's face. Cassie and her husband arrive with the new baby in tow. The scene before Jack, on the whole, is loud and chaotic. It is a family of sorts; one that's been cobbled together over the years.

Yep, he thinks, they don't do this often enough.

"First round of burgers are done. Come on and get 'em," Mitchell announces. He's been manning the grill on Daniel's back porch. But he can't compete, apparently, with the draw of a newborn because everyone has their attention directed on baby Allison. Even from here, Jack can tell that Daniel and Sam are having a silent standoff over who gets to hold her first.

Jack can't get past the occasional moments where he still sees the little girl in Cassandra. It's hard to remember that she's all grown up, married, and as of a few weeks ago, a new mom herself. How did that happen so fast?

"Where I come from babies aren't celebrated this much," Vala says, standing up when she's been abandoned by the others midway through a hand of gin rummy. She moves closer to Jack, watching the same scene unfold on the lawn in front of them; where perfectly normal, and in some cases extremely intelligent, adults reduce themselves to cooing.

"No?" Jack asks, even to his own ears he sounds a little flat and forced. He wonders if anyone has ever told Vala that he once had a son. He wonders if she ever held her own child; that little detail wasn't in the mission reports. He just wonders sometimes.

"Well, I mean," Vala continues, "they are celebrated a little. Just not to the ridiculous. General, have you seen the people from your planet that appear on that show called 'Toddlers and Tiaras?"

He grunts something near a chuckle. "You may have a point."

"It's sad, but I must admit I prefer the celebrity dancing."

Where along the line did Cassie grow up, and also, when did it become normal for him to have a conversation with an alien about reality TV? Weird version of a family, no doubt about it, although he'd rather have this than a lot of things. The stiff, formal family gatherings of his childhood that included an unspoken 800-pound gorilla in the room were far worse. He looks back now and thinks how absurd it was that those people felt Uncle Robby's drinking problem was the worst thing in the world.

Uncle Robby had gone to war and come back alive. As Jack has gotten older, he thinks he understands Uncle Robby far better than he could have ever understood the myriad of aunts, cousins, and distant relatives that never could comprehend what 'the worst thing in the world' looked like. Or the worst thing in the galaxy, for that matter. There was also a time when Jack worried that he might become Uncle Robby, slowly drinking himself to death, but it's not coincidental that he stopped worrying about that right around the time the cobbling together of this weird group first began.

* * *

Vala and Sam are cleaning up in the kitchen, but by the sound of it from the living room, Jack guesses only about 30% of their efforts are going toward dishwashing, and a large majority of their efforts are toward talking, laughing, and someone– possibly Daniel– getting sprayed by water from the sink. Jack's also guessing the dousing wasn't a total accident.

Teal'c and Cassandra's husband, Jerry, are in the far corner talking. Mitchell and Landry are in front of the TV watching some sporting event and debating. Jack can't see from the angle he's at - it might be baseball or pre-season football, but so far nothing they've said has clued him in. Then again, he's only half-listening.

Cassandra settles in next to Jack on the leather sofa. She leans over and puts the baby in his arms. "Here you go, Grandpa. It's your turn to hold her."

He tries not to react, really. Because he knows she is teasing him, though he supposes it's not that far off; he is about the age that most normal people become grandparents for the first time. And isn't that a thought?

This isn't the first hint of it though; Cassie's been trying to get him to sign up for some Web site that apparently "everyone in the world" has a profile on. She wants him to be able to see her regular updates and pictures of the kid that she plans to post there. He didn't want to bother with it, and although Cassie smiled at him and said it was OK, Jack suspects she was disappointed. Three days ago she e-mailed him, trying again, telling him that it even had fun games and quizzes– he could find out what his super villain name was and everything– all the cool, young, hip kids are doing it.

He sighs. Maybe he should get Carter to go through it and show him.

"You OK, Jack?"

"Sure." He's quick to reply because it's Cassie, and he's always OK for her. But he shouldn't have to learn some new fancy Web site in place of actually holding Allison like he is right now. She looks a lot like her mom and thankfully not too much like Jerry, whom Jack has always been respectful of, but thinks is a little too geeky for Cassie.

"Hey," Jack says with the intent to lighten things up, "I think she's got my ears."

Cassandra rolls her eyes. "When you took biology 101, did you sleep through the part about genetics?"

"Cassie, when I took biology 101, it lasted 3 days."

She grins. Jack loves that she never gets tired of his same old lame jokes; he once used this one when she was in high school and stressing out over finals. She finishes the punch line, "Because that's all the time it took to lecture on what little they knew way back in the old days?"

"I sat behind Darwin and threw spitballs at him. True story."

* * *

He's outside again on the lawn with the low light of early evening around him and the sounds of an enthusiastic game of Pictionary floating out from the screen door. He told his team that he needed a 10 minute break. He needed some air.

Carter approaches from behind. "You alright?" she asks.

He takes a breath, contemplating the question because it's not the first time he's heard it tonight, but unlike with Cassie, this time it's not a question that's as simple as it first appears to be. "I think so," he finally says.

"You've been a little quiet today. Usually you love these things."

"Hey, I'm a party guy." He turns to look at her and the rest of it— whatever it was that he was about to say in some self-mocking tone in order to throw off the notion that he's been thoughtful and serious on the inside lately— stalls out.

Her hair is a little wet at the ends and he assumes Daniel exacted some sort of revenge in the few minutes since he stepped out here. She simultaneously looks not at all and exactly the same as she did in those early years, when she and Daniel would hang back sometimes on the walk back to the gate and shove each other, tease, and play games like two kids in the backseat on a long car trip. Of course, she'd do that only when the planet was empty, deemed safe, when the solider in her could finally take a moment to relax.

She looks up at him, and he knows she's not buying any of the act he's putting on.

A little more than 2 months ago they spoke about things they never have before; things that used to hang in the air in a way not all that dissimilar to Uncle Robby's drinking problem, but with far different consequences. At times it would be right in front of them, other times off in the periphery, but it was always there.

Finally they spoke, late at night, and now there's some sort of vague plan in place. He likes that; frankly, he was downright giddy the first few days after they talked, and wasn't that embarrassing? Giddy. He really is a pathetic sap.

But lately, vague doesn't seem like it's enough.

He has more flexibility when it comes to the Air Force, but even so, turns out her commission will come up before his. She's got another six months and there are fourteen more before he can follow her into retirement, and then there is whatever comes next. So far he's been keeping his mind away from that part of it.

He wants to touch her, but he can't. Not that he's afraid at this point what might happen to either of them career-wise, it's the otherwise part. He's pretty sure that if he starts touching her the tentative agreement he has with her, Murphy's Law, and the universe at large might fall apart into dust. Perhaps that's why he panics a little when she slides her hand in to hold his.

"I won't bite." She sounds curious, and possibly a little concerned about him.

He relaxes. "Think they'll mind if we abandon the game altogether and just stay out here for a while?"

"I don't think they will mind at all."

She holds his hand and they watch the shadows stretch out from the base of the tree trunks to blanket the backyard. Eventually she puts her head on his shoulder. He wonders if this is what it will be like.

* * *

Jack doesn't sleep during the redeye back to DC; he's somehow lost that ability to nod off on planes during the last few years. But his body seems to feel the same whether he's had 3 hours of sleep, or 8, or none; the same level of craving caffeine and eyes itching while reading endless reports, no matter what he does. So he's given up worrying about it.

He opens his office door and clicks on the desk lamp. It's quiet this early, only the sounds of the florescent bulb coming to life and the honk of a distant car outside can be heard; no one is walking the halls yet.

He's used to living a solitary life, more than used to it. But it's been grinding away at him. The quiet gets to him when he least suspects it.

He misses her.

His eyes slide closed and he can almost feel the ghost of her hand in his grasp. He's pretty sure they've held hands only once or twice before. It shouldn't be this painful having to let go, even if it's only for a while longer.

Jack opens his eyes and they fall on the framed photos lined up on the credenza. It's expected for a person in his position to have a carefully selected display in his office of things that mix his Air Force credentials with some sort of indication that he's a well-rounded person, the kind who has old buddies and a smiling family. For a guy who typically could care less about what's expected of him, especially by those with more stars on their shoulders than he, this particular tradition he decides to adhere to. He finds he doesn't mind it. There have been times when glancing over and seeing their faces has saved him from losing it completely.

Among the collection is a photo snapped of him and his team back in the first year or two of the program. Jack doesn't remember all the exact details– it was someone on SG-3 or maybe SG-5 that took the picture– but he does remember it being one of those rare times that they took back-up out of some kind of concern, and yet the mission didn't go to hell in a hand basket. Instead, it was light and fun and one of the guys started snapping goofy pictures. Daniel put a copy of this particular one into a nice frame for him, to honor the occasion of one of his promotions. But it wasn't Daniel, and certainly not Teal'c, that he most often looked at in that picture. It was sort of amazing how meeting her eyes even in a photo had such power over him.

He picks up the phone.

* * *

He doesn't get Carter on the first try. It takes 6 more hours and 4 more attempts to finally get her on the line, even though she's currently on Earth and that should technically make it easier than getting a hold of her when she's in orbit or on some other planet. Something about a magnetic field gone awry is to blame. He doesn't want to know the details.

But it also means he's had time to think, and rethink, and really, this is a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. Now that he's got her, he's not sure what to say. Hey Carter, run away with me? There was that one planet with clear blue water, endless summer, and a nice fascinating _something_ that Carter was all excited about. She'd even said, "I could stay here forever studying this!"

It wasn't his worst idea ever.

"Sir?" she asks when the stretch after they exchange hellos goes on a little too long.

"So," he takes a breath and dives. "Turns out that the wait is kind of a big deal." Despite what he'd told her a few months ago.

There's a perceptible sigh. "Yeah."

Good, so at least she's feeling it too. Misery and having a thing for company, and all that. He's not a complex guy. It's simple. His problems begin and end with the fact that other people in other occupations can give a two-week notice and be done with it.

"So, here's an idea," he says. "I could make a run for it."

"And get as far as where, exactly?" she asks. He's guessing the accompanying look is one of his favorites. He's missing that too.

"If only I knew someone who could disarm a locator beacon."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, sir."

Oh yeah, without doubt, her expression is in his top 5 favorites. He's sure of it.

He wants to tell her how tired he is, but it was worth the redeye just to see her. He wants to tell her how much the simple sound of her voice rights something inside him. He wants to say things to her that he has no words for. Not yet anyway. He thinks that with her, he might finally discover them. She knows how he feels about her, but he doesn't think she gets how much his salvation is tied to her.

"I'm OK," he says, answering a question that she asked hours ago. Or maybe years before, in one sense or another. "It'll be OK."

"I'll make sure of it." The warmth in her voice washes through him, chasing away the cold.

"Talk to you tomorrow?" he asks.

"Definitely."

He knows that she's smiling and it's enough for now. It has to be.


End file.
